


Legacy

by haelpack



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Background Pinkberry, Background richjake, Descendants Au, M/M, NYC!Jake, NYC!Jenna, Opposites Attract, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-29 12:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15729258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haelpack/pseuds/haelpack
Summary: Michael is sick of living in his father's shadow. Jeremy is tired of being a disappointment in his dad's eyes. Michael wants a new start, far from the literal Hell that is his home. Jeremy wants to find himself and prove himself to his dad. Life is tough when you're descended from actual Heroes and Villains.Finally, a new group of VKs are invited to come to Auradon. Despite their hopes, it cannot go smoothly.





	1. Son of Hades

**Author's Note:**

> Me??? Starting another fic before finishing the last one???? Unheard of.
> 
> Also-- watch me mesh my two niche interests together in a fic no one but me wants to read lmao

Michael swung himself from the low-hanging pole agilely, landing lightly on his feet without the slightest stumble. His companion (or lackey, according to Michael’s dad) had no such luck. Michael rolled his eyes and leaned against a dirty brick wall as he waited for Rich to regain his balance and catch his breath.

Michael twirled the silver hook around his finger rapidly, marveling at how Harry kept it so shiny. He would have expected that it would be covered in a thin layer of grime, like everything else on the Isle. But instead, it shone so easily Michael could see himself in the reflection.

He stopped spinning the hook, holding it so he wouldn’t see himself anymore.

Michael (and Rich) had never known anything but the Isle of the Lost. They’d been born there, on an island full of the world’s nastiest criminals and most evil villains. The place was decaying, dangerous, and entirely dependent on the country of Auradon. It was a prison that they had been born into. A prison Michael craved most desperately to escape.

“You good?” He asked Rich after a moment. Rich’s breathing was no longer audible, which was a good sign. But he was sitting on the ground, legs sprawled out in front of him, which was not a good sign.

“I don’t feel so good,” Rich admitted, his lisp thicker than usual. That tended to happen when he overexerted himself.

“We can’t stay here long,” Michael told him, not unkindly. “We need to get out of here before Harry and his pirate gang show up.” Rich made a face. Neither of them liked Uma’s pirate crew much at all.

The food chain on the Isle was messed up. Michael knew that, though he knew no other way to live. Having friends, or else someone you cared about, was dangerous. Your feelings would be used against you in a heartbeat. But it was even more dangerous to be solo. If you were alone, you were easy pickings. The solution was gangs, for the most part.

Michael didn’t like gangs. He didn’t care much for the company of others, if he was being honest. Rich was okay, though he often tripped and fucked up more often than he helped. If banding together wasn’t a necessity, Michael wouldn’t hang out with Rich. Hell, if Rich wasn’t the son of one of Michael’s dad’s lackeys, Michael wouldn’t hang out with Rich. But Hades practically shoved Rich into Michael’s face.

“Every halfway decent villain has minions, Michael,” Hades had told him more than once. “Don’t you want to be anything more than the mediocre problem child you are now?”

Michael gritted his teeth at the memory and kicked the sole of Rich’s shoe. “Let’s go.”

Rich ran a hand through the red streak in his hair, sighing, but pushed himself to his feet. Michael hated that Rich followed his orders so easily. So eagerly. Pain had instilled too much sidekick into his son, truly. Michael shook his head.

They skulked down the alley, keeping to the shadows. Despite their unnaturally (yet natural) colored hair, they blended in with the darkness with ease. Even on the magic-less Isle, Michael was still the son of the God of the Underworld. Darkness was seeped into his bones. Their worn out combat boots made no noise on the cobblestone road. Even the studs on their jackets refused to reflect any light.

Michael held up a hand, stopping Rich in his tracks. Harry stormed past, growling in his accented voice. Michael couldn’t catch what he said, but he heard his own name more than once. Michael would almost feel bad about stealing Harry’s hook, if Harry didn’t have two perfectly working hands of his own. He was just extra and trying to be just like his father by using the hook. Pft. Michael didn’t get why anyone on this godforsaken Isle would want to be like their parents. Their parents are the reason they’re in this hellhole.

“Is he gone?” Rich said a moment too soon. Harry stopped in his tracks, red jacket flying as he whirled around a spotted the two of them the alley.

“Come on, Rich!” Michael complained, grabbing Rich’s elbow. He tried to make a break for it, but Rich wasn’t quick on his feet. Rich stumbled, which slowed Michael down. And that gave Harry ample time to catch up to them.

Michael had a black eye before he even knew what hit him. He dropped the hook onto the ground and swung blindly, trying to see through watery eyes. Harry was an angry, red blur but Michael did his best to fight. He heard Rich yelp, but then was punched so hard in the face that he went down.

“Mess with me again,” Harry murmured in Michael’s ear, “and I’ll kill you and the little rat. Mark my words.” The cool metal of the hook slid across Michael’s neck, leaving a thin, shallow cut behind.

Michael lay there for what felt like an eternity. His nose hurt like a bitch and he could feel the blood sliding down his cheek to the wet ground beneath him. The back of his head stung and was probably bleeding, too.

“Mike? You okay?” Rich asked thickly. Head still spinning, Michael turned to try to find him. Rich was pushing himself to sit up. He had some scrapes and a nasty cut across his cheek (Jesus, had Harry pulled a knife or had he grabbed the hook that fast?), but otherwise seemed okay.

“Yeah,” Michael responded, but it was a lie. Rich fumbled around before handing Michael his glasses and helping him sit up. Michael groaned. The glass on his right lens had cracked significantly when Harry punched him. And the odds of any glasses showing up in the next barge were slim to none.

The Isle of the Lost, like most prisons, was entirely dependent on the world outside. Nothing could grow there, hardly anything could be built. The prisoners— sorry, _inhabitants_ — were forced to rely on the weekly barge that showed up on the docks. It brought food, clothing, supplies… Basically, whatever scraps Auradon thought they deserved. “Auradon’s trash” was a more accurate description. Half rotten food, torn clothing, and whatever technology had become outdated and replaced on the mainland. That’s what the Isle thrived on.

Michael had been lucky when he’d found a pair of glasses in a barge a few years ago. They weren’t quite the right prescription, and he was often mocked for wearing them, but his eyesight was so poor that to go without them would probably get him killed. Yet he could hardly see through the cracked glass. With a heavy sigh, he dropped them to the ground.

It was getting dark. Michael grimaced. Every move he made caused his head to spin and ache.

“Let’s go home,” Rich said, automatically looping Michael’s arm around his neck. Michael ripped his arm away.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though he swayed where he stood. If they walked through any length of town like that, it would just put more of a target on Michael’s back. The safest thing to do was to get back to Michael’s house, and quick. The less people who saw their condition, the better. Neither of them were in any condition to go through another fight.

Luckily, Michael’s (admittedly small) house wasn’t too far from where they were. Or, at least, it could have been much farther. The house was plain, made of brown wood. It looked like one good kick could knock it down, but it was fairly sturdy. Hades was always complaining about it. It wasn’t as big as Maleficent’s castle, or even Cruella’s Hell Hall. But they had always been much more flashy villains. As much as he hated it, this house reflected Hades and his more mundane approach. It was the only home Michael had ever known

Even blurred and half masked by the darkening sky, Michael hated it. He would have burned it to the ground if he and Rich had somewhere else to go. He hurried inside, locking the door behind Rich.

They took care of the cut on Rich’s cheek first. It was long and deep. It must have stung, but Rich didn’t complain. Michael used what little water he could risk without giving Rich an infection (clean water? What’s that?) and used some tape to hold it shut. He’d have a nasty scar. Michael would have to remember to get Harry back for that.

“Fuck, this is bad,” Rich said as he set to work on the back of Michael’s head. He pushed the teal hair on top of Michael’s head aside to get a better look. “You better just wash up first. I’ll look for something to cover it.”

Michael groaned, but did as Rich suggested. He made his way to the bathroom, which was in desperate need of a clean (hopefully there would be _something_ useful Michael could grab in the next barge).

“What the hell happened to you?” Michael froze at the sound of his father’s slithering voice. He turned to see his father. Hades’s skin was the same shade of brown as Michael’s and they had the same shock of teal hair (Michael heard Hades’s hair used to burn, but the Isle’s barrier prevented even that magic). He was a full foot taller than Michael, though, and he used that to tower menacingly over his son. Michael took an instinctive step back. “Well?”

“Harry. Hook.” Michael didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t find a way quick enough to spin the story in a way that would make his father happy, and he stumbled over his words.

“You let the pirate’s boy get the best of you?” Hades spat, his voice growing louder with each word. “My son? Losing to a gODDAMN PIRATE? HAVE YOU NO SHAME?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said quickly. He tried to inch into the bathroom, but Hades grabbed him by the front of the shirt.

“You are such a disappointment,” Hades hissed, pressing his forehead against Michael’s. “I should just kill you now. Save me the fucking embarrassment.”

Though Michael had heard the threat multiple times in his sixteen years, he shook in his boots. Maybe, just maybe, this time Hades would follow through. (Would that really be so bad?)

“Uh, Boss?” The nasally voice of Panic broke the horrific tension, pulling Hades’s attention from Michael. “We got a problem down at the dock. Gothel and her crew.”

Hades let out a frustrated growl. He glared down at Michael. “And you’re so useless, I can’t even send you.” His grip lightened just slightly on Michael’s shirt, but Michael slipped out of his grasp and into the bathroom before Hades could stop him. There was a single, loud slam on the bathroom door before eerie silence.

Michael sank to sit on the toilet seat. He gave himself thirty seconds to be shaken by his encounter with his father before he turned on the water and began to clean up.

Anyone who said they weren’t afraid of their parents were liars. And Michael was scared shitless of Hades. He hated the man with every fiber of his being, but he could never act on it. It was stupid— without his powers, Hades was no more dangerous than Harry or any of the other goons on this island, but still. There was something so menacing about Hades, and something about how he’d raised Michael that kept him right under Hades’s thumb.

With his teal hair still wet, Michael trudged back into the kitchen for Rich to wrap his head. There was a fresh red welt on Rich’s other cheek, no doubt from Pain. Michael grimaced, ashamed that he couldn’t even protect Rich. He really was useless. Rich, though, was good at hiding his pain, and he got to work wrapping an almost clean towel around the back of Michael’s head. It was awkward and poorly done, but it would work until the bleeding stopped.

Rich started talking, probably to distract the two of them.

“The barge comes in two days,” he said, “so we need to be ready. We’ll force Dustin to help this time.” The barge simply dumped the food and supplies on the Isle, but it was a free-for-all for the residents. And Hades usually made the kids collect the week’s supplies. He liked to punish Michael and Rich (and even Dustin, when he could be found) for not getting enough food, or not choosing the right supplies, or for taking to long when the barge ran late.

Michael snorted. “Dustin’s about as helpful as a broom,” he said dryly. They walked into the living room, which had one lone chair (for Hades’s use only) and a decrepit TV on a milk box. They sat on the cold, wooden floor, leaning against the wall.

“Still, that’s two more hands to grab. Another bag to fill.” Almost on cue, Rich’s stomach growled. There was never enough food to go around on the Isle. It didn’t help that the pirates claimed most of it for Ursula’s fish and chips restaurant.

“True.” Michael turned the TV on, half expecting it wouldn’t work. The thing went on the fritz most days.

Most people on the Isle hated television. Mostly because all there was to watch was Auradon news and Auradon propaganda reels. It was all pretty pink princesses and stuffy, handsome princes. It was all so starkly different from anything and anyone on the Isle. Most only watched to “keep tabs on the enemy”. Michael watched because he was fascinated by it all.

The simple idea that a life like that could exist astonished him. A life without daily fights and empty bellies. A life where you were so clean that your hair shone and your teeth sparkled. A life where the sun shone down on your skin.

Michael had resented the ever-present storm cloud above the Isle ever since he’d first learned what the sun was. He wondered how it would feel on his skin. How it would feel to not be hungry. To be clean.

He’d never tell anyone (not even Rich), but he wanted to go. He’d swim there if the barrier would allow. He just wanted off the Isle and into Auradon. Not even to make trouble, just to live.

It was a fool’s dream and he knew it. But Michael had always been something of a fool.

—

Michael had never been more angry, more jealous, or more heartbroken than the day Mal and her gang had been chosen to go to Auradon. He’d gone home with bloody knuckles from punching brick walls. His eyes had been puffy and red, but only Rich hadn’t bought the weed excuse.

The original declaration had said more would follow shortly after Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay left. Months passed and there was never another declaration. No more invitations. Michael tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but it was hard with Ben and Mal pasted over every TV ad and poster that came in on the barges.

Rich and Michael had spent all night tracking Dustin, Panic’s son, down and forcing him to help with the barge pickup that morning. Dustin complained the entire way there how he hated fighting through the crowds.

“You guys always do fine without me.” Michael’s eyes glinted and he whipped around to glower at Dustin.

“If you don’t get off your fucking ass and help, you get nothing. Let’s see you go the week with nothing to eat. Go on.” Dustin wasn’t as good a minion as Rich, but he responded well to threats. Michael hated giving threats. It was why they never got along.

“Fine, fine,” Dustin muttered. He took the burlap sack Rich was offering.

“Let’s get going,” Rich suggested. “We’ll need to find a good spot.”

Michael clapped Dustin on the shoulder. “You can fend off the pirates until the ship comes.” Dustin gave him a withering glare, but for once kept his mouth shut.

There was already a sizable crowd at the dock, but Michael and his little crew managed to find a good spot. Uma wasn’t far off, which could pose a problem. Still, it meant they’d have a good spot to grab food. Uma always got the most food from the barge.

“One, two,” Rich counted as the ship pulled into the harbor, “three.” The ramp fell down and the frenzy began. It was a terrible fight and Michael grabbed blindly, throwing anything that looked edible or even slightly useful into his sack. He bit any arm that passed in front of his face, trying to reach something in front of him. He drew blood more than once.

His bag was only half full when the supplies ran out, but he supposed he could have done worse. Hopefully Dustin and Rich had better luck.

He was exiting the ship (he didn’t want to be around when the Auradon police started herding them off the boat like animals) when a security guard stopped him.

“Michael, son of Hades?” The man said gruffly. Michael eyed him suspiciously.

“Who’s asking?”

The guard rolled his eyes. Michael clenched his sack tightly closed, his skull ring digging into this finger with effort.

“They’re doing another roundup of you villain kids,” the guard explained. “You’re on the list.” 

Michael’s heart jumped into his throat. This could not be happening. Life just didn’t work out this well for Michael. He couldn’t believe that he might be getting off the Isle. For good.

“Lemme see this list,” he demanded. The guard showed him a piece of thick, yellow paper. Much nicer than any of the scraps Michael had grown up using. 

It was, indeed, a decree that more children of villains be given a chance in Auradon. The list was short, but that was to be expected.

**_Jenna, daughter of Dr. Facilier_ **

**_Chloe, daughter of the Queen of Hearts_ **

**_Michael, son of Hades_ **

Michael frowned. Rich wasn’t on the list.

“Mike! What’s going on?” Rich’s voice broke through the din and Michael looked up. Rich’s sack was considerably fuller than Michael’s own. “We gotta go, dude. They’re gonna start kicking us off.”

How could Michael leave Rich in a place like this? How could he go and make Rich stay? But then, how could he _not_ go if he was being given this chance.

Michael looked back up at the guard. He made up his mind when he saw that condescending look on the guard’s face. If Rich wasn’t going, neither was he.


	2. Son of Hercules

“I’m really sorry, Jeremy, but there aren’t any more spots available.” Jay looked liked he felt bad, but that didn’t make Jeremy feel any better.

“Come on, Jay,” Jeremy said, trying to keep his desperation from his voice. “There has to be something you can do. I mean, Carlos made the team! He’s as bad as I am.”

“Yeah, I know, but he at least scored a goal.” Jay clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, dude.” Jay slung his tourney bag over his shoulder and walked off the field. Jeremy stayed put, a disgusting feeling pooling in his stomach. He was cut from the tourney team.

Now, Jeremy didn’t really like being on the tourney team. He wasn’t very good, as anyone with eyes could tell, and he didn’t particularly even like sports. But his dad was a very athletic guy. And even though Jeremy sucked, Hercules was always proud that Jeremy was on the team. Whenever things got awkward at home (as they often did— Jeremy was a very awkward guy), things could be smoothed by a story from tourney practice. Or mentioning that the team had won their last game (just because Jeremy was bad at the game doesn’t mean his teammates were).

And now that was all gone. Jeremy couldn’t even be mad at Carlos, who’d taken his spot on the team. It had been sheer dumb luck that Carlos had tripped and kicked the ball into the net.

Jeremy was already dreading going home. He didn't want to face his dad. Hercules never really got mad, but he’d just be _disappointed_. And that was so much worse.

It was already getting dark, though, so Jeremy couldn’t just hang around. The school year hadn’t started yet, so he couldn’t even go hide out in his dorm room. He had no choice but to go home.

He took his time, which might not have been the best idea. His phone buzzed when he was about halfway home.

**Dad** : You’re out kind of late. Celebrating with the team?

Jeremy purposefully didn’t open the text message. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and kept walking.

Jeremy was the spitting image of Hercules before he met Phil. Tall but scrawny, a total loser. And he didn’t even have his dad’s godlike strength. There was nothing remotely remarkable about him. His mom always said he was more special than he knew, but that was a load of garbage. It was the kind of stuff that moms have to say. Jeremy snorted quietly to himself. Even Auradon had its share of losers.

When Jeremy finally turned onto his street, his pace slowed considerably. Still, he made it to the door much more quickly than he would have liked. Never would have been preferable, really.

Jeremy dropped his tourney bag right in the doorway, glaring at it as he tried to hurry past the kitchen to the stairs.

“Jeremy!” Megara called. Jeremy cringed, freezing. “Did you already eat? You know I told you to call the next time you stay out late with the team—”

“I, uh, I wasn’t,” Jeremy said, turning to face his mom in the doorway. She was cleaning up the table. Alone, thank the gods.

“Where were you then?” Hercules added, popping into view. He had a plate of half-eaten lamb chops in his hands. Shit. “I thought you guys would be out celebrating the new season.”

“Well, they are.” Might as well beat around the bush as much as possible. That would make it better, right? (Wrong.)

Megara’s expression changed as she put it together in her head. Jeremy hated that pitying look. It made him feel even worse.

But Hercules was still confused. “Why aren’t you with them? Are you feeling sick?”

Yes. This conversation was making him sick with anxiety already. “No.”

“Jeremy,” Megara started. Whether she was trying to be comforting or trying to tell him to get on with it, Jeremy couldn’t tell. Looking down at his brand-new tourney shoes (Hercules had bought them for the new season— ugh), Jeremy mumbled.

Hercules blinked. “Come again?”

“I didn’t make the team, okay!” Jeremy said, louder this time. “I got cut.”

Megara passed him a plate of dinner and kissed him on the forehead. Hercules sighed deeply, and that was even worse than his gaze-of-disappointment. Jeremy felt himself shrink and he booked it out of there as quickly as he could, choosing to eat his dinner while locked in his room.

He immediately called his best friend, Christine, on FaceTime. She answered right away, just like she always did. Christine really was too good for Jeremy.

She looked sympathetic right away, which wasn’t good news.

“Chad might have mentioned something,” Christine said, her wings flittering behind her. “He was picking Audrey up after their team dinner. I’m so sorry, Jeremy!” Christine lived in the same castle as Audrey. Christine’s mom was Flora, one of the fairies who raised Sleeping Beauty. Christine and Audrey couldn’t be more different, though they were surprisingly close.

Jeremy sighed deeply (sounding more like Hercules than he would have liked) and started picking at his dinner. “It doesn’t matter. My dad’s wishing someone like Chad was his kid right about now, but what’s new?”

Christine clucked her tongue. “He doesn’t think that and you know it.”

“He does, and I don’t even blame him,” Jeremy muttered. He took a bite of the lamb.   
Christine knew not to go down this rabbit hole. They’d had this argument more times than Jeremy could count. “So, did you hear?” She asked instead, steering the conversation away from Jeremy’s usual self-deprecation.

Jeremy shrugged, his mouth full of his mom’s delicious Greek cooking.

“Apparently we’re getting some more _transfer students_ tomorrow,” Christine said excitedly. While a lot of Auradon’s people didn’t like bringing the kids from the Isle of the Lost to the mainland, Christine thought it was awesome. Her opinion wasn’t even lessened when the originals Villain Kids tried to steal Fairy Godmother’s wand and break the barrier.

Jeremy had originally been skeptical of the VKs, but his opinion had changed pretty quickly. Christine liked to tease him about the fact that a pretty girl could sway him so easily, but to be fair who wouldn’t be swayed by someone like Evie? Jeremy was definitely not the only kid at Auradon Prep with a hopeless crush on her. And it seemed that she had a thing for nerds (I mean, Jeremy was at least a little cooler than _Doug_ of all people), so there was a small part of Jeremy that kind of hoped it wasn’t quite so hopeless.

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy tried to play it casual, but Christine could always see right through him. “Do we know anything about them?”

“You mean who their parents are?”

“I mean— yeah.” Christine shrugged.

“I may have heard that there’s at least one more ‘Royal wannabe’, according to Audrey.” Audrey still hadn’t gotten over Evie claiming to be a princess when she first arrived. Jeremy had a suspicion that Audrey was just jealous that Evie was much more suited for the royal life than she was.

“Think it’ll go better than last time?” 

“Better how? Less stealing Fairy Godmother’s wand? Or do you think one of them will manage to steal Ben from Mal?” Jeremy rolled his eyes, snorting just a little.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“I dunno, I think he has a type. Bad girls,” Christine said, smirking. “Guess you two have that in common, huh?” Jeremy flushed, but he couldn’t really deny it.

—

Auradon Prep was alive with gossip the next day. Whispers floated through the halls as Jeremy walked through them. His anxiety told him they were all whispering about him, how Carlos had booted him from the tourney team. But his anxiety was soon drowned out when he heard the whispers for himself.

“I heard an extra one’s coming,” Aziz, son of Aladdin and Jasmine, said.

“I heard they’re even more vicious than _Mal_ ,” Jane whispered.

“Do we really need more villains? They should all just stay where they are,” Melody, daughter of Ariel and Eric, claimed.

“They’re not the villains,” Jeremy snapped before even thinking, “their parents are.”

“Same difference,” Melody said stiffly, glaring at him. He raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh, right. Well, your mom sold out the entire ocean to Ursula. Should we all blame you for that?” Melody’s mouth dropped open in offense.

“They’re raised by their parents! Do you think villains teach their kids right from wrong?”

“Rapunzel was raised by Mother Gothel. I don’t see her locked away on the Isle.” Jeremy was getting heated, glaring hard at the younger girl.

“Okay!” Christine sang, sliding right in between the two of them. “That’s enough of that. See you later, Mels!” She grabbed Jeremy’s arm, directing him down a different, less crowded hall.

“Why are they all being so horrible?” He asked her when she loosened her grip on his arm. Christine sighed.

“Just because Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos turned out well doesn’t mean the others will.”

“So? Just because the first four VKs tried to break the barrier doesn’t mean these new kids will.”

“Jeremy, I agree with you! I just— I get their side, too.” Christine sighed again, her iridescent wings fluttering. She floated an inch off the wooden floor before landing softly back on the ground. “They’re scared, Jer.”

“They’re prejudiced.”

“And it’s based in fear. All we can do is be friendly to them; you know, lead by example.” 

Jeremy let out a little laugh as they ducked into their first class of the day, Algebra. “They’re not gonna wanna be friends with us, Chris. We’re losers, remember? I don’t even have the tourney team to raise our status anymore.”

“Being cool is overrated,” Christine declared, sliding into her usual seat. Jeremy sat next to her. “I’d rather actually like things and enjoy my life.”

Class started, and Jeremy didn’t really have anything to say anyway. He and Christine had different opinions when it came to being cool.

The teacher, an aging dwarf (not one of the Famous Seven, but one of their cousins, as far as Jeremy knew) only made it about halfway through his lecture when there was an interruption.

“Whoa, they’re early!” Jake Dillinger (son of Snow White and Prince Philip Dillinger) said to himself from his usual seat by the window. He hadn’t been trying to halt the entire class, but Jake was tall and had a deep voice that carried, so naturally it cut through Mr. Reyes’s lecture and caused a little chaos.

Students immediately fled their seats, ignoring Mr. Reyes’s complaints, to try to catch a glimpse of the new transfer students. Despite the overwhelmingly negative reception this morning, most of Jeremy’s classmates seemed excited. Christine waited until everyone else had crowded the window before flying up and floating above all their heads, easily gaining the best view.

Jeremy didn’t try to see through the window. He was too small and weak to elbow his way through his classmates, and besides there would be an assembly. Auradon Prep had an assembly for everything.

“They’re not coming out,” Christine commented. “I wonder why?”

Someone opened the window, and the sound of muffled arguing could be heard over the now-hushed crowd.

“GOD DAMMIT, CHLOE, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

That sure perked Jeremy’s interest. Even Mr. Reyes was vying for a peak at the limousine now. Jeremy took the opportunity to slip out of the classroom. He had a good feeling that the rest of the school was going to be just as occupied with the new Villain Kids and took the opportunity to run through the halls to get to the front door of the school, where he would have a clear— and much closer— view of the limo.

He stepped in front of the window in the door just in time to see the limousine door finally open. There seemed to be some sort of fight going on, and two teenagers quite literally fell out of the car. They were almost a blur of teal and ruby, rolling around on the gravel. Ben and Mal, who had both come out to greet the new students, jumped in.

Jeremy opened the door a crack so he could hear.

“FUCKING BITCH—”

“BASTARD ASS—”

“GUYS CALM THE HELL DOWN!” Mal was just as loud as the two new kids. Though she was small, she was strong. Mal gave the red kid one good yank and the two fell apart. Jeremy finally got a good look.

The girl in red was easily one of the most gorgeous girls Jeremy had ever seen (Evie excluded). She had long, light brown hair that was as straight as a board. She wore dark eye makeup and her crimson red lips were curled in a snarl. Her red leather crop top and high waisted skirt had hearts stitches in various spots, and she wore black fingerless, biker gloves.

The blue kid— more a cyan/teal shade than Evie’s dark blue— had brown skin that contrasted beautifully with his aqua-colored leather jacket. Everything on him dripped blue and black, from his gloves the his combat boots. Jeremy was caught on his face— his handsome, perfectly beautiful face. He outshone the other girl by a mile.

There was a gasp, and Jeremy’s eyes drifted up. Oh.

The boy’s shock of blue hair was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me?? coming back to a story almost a year after posting it??? Unheard of.


End file.
